Mercy
by Zagzagel
Summary: Sometimes things are better left buried. [coda to Jump the Shark, small ficlet]


**A/N - This is a coda to Jump the Shark in Season Four which happens right before The Rapture (Cas being brainwashed once again by heaven) Just a simple little ficlet and I hope it is enjoyable!**

 **XX**

* * *

 _Dad wasn't a monk, Dean._

He shouldn't be doing this to himself after burning his brother's body. The one he didn't know about, the one he never had a chance to save because he was already dead. Everyone always ended up dead around him. Adam was just some new mark at the end of a long list of all his screw-ups.

He's in some pullout, some sort of scenic vista overlook that wasn't all that scenic in the darkness of two in the damn morning. There's probably hills or some lake or whatever normal people like to gawk at all swept and hidden under shadows and little moon. He hugs his arms around himself, pushing up against Baby and then almost recoils.

Being with the car, in his jacket, his own skin just makes everything worse.

Before he can think, he's stripping it off, throwing it in the dirt. He can't, he just can't have it on him right now because he can't even breathe. Think about what's in his own headspace because it's all jacked up and has been for way too long. Probably before Sammy was walking. Little brother that he was out there riding around with a demon like Dean didn't know what's up. One more knife, one more proof that he just isn't good enough.

"Dean."

He spins around, hand freezing on the grip of his gun and he sighs, not sure if he was happy or just pissed. "Good way to get shot, Cas."

The angel just stands there all stiff with his tie looking like he had thought about taking it off and stopped halfway through the job. Holy tax accountant of heaven with hair still flipped out even if Dean can't see it in the limited light. There is a head tilt, like the angel can't comprehend why Dean would be anxious over shooting him.

"Why are you upset?"

Dean can almost see the way the angel moves his face, the way he is trying to get a handle on human things, and he wants to ask if that's what brought his sometimes erstwhile angel around. Because if it is he can just flutter right on back up to where ever he hung out at.

"Nothing. Fine."

"You are not fine." Cas was still tilting his head in that strange way, like he thought a better angle would help see inside him better. Dean crossed his arms over his chest, fiery burn of shame rushing up and through at that thought.

"Unless you have some suicidal heavenly mission you want me to go on, I'd like to be alone." Dean leans against the car, not thinking about her smooth lines. Not thinking of what it reminds him of. Things that weren't ever cold, dry skin, coarse hands, breath of sour whiskey coming from a too demanding mouth. He wasn't enough then; is never going to be enough.

He's sliding down the passenger side door without thinking too much about it, still hugging his arms across his chest trying to keep it down. Everything is all stripped out raw and bleeding, so little of himself left. It started long before hell got it claws in him, they just finished that job. Those little pieces of him that he had been trailing behind for so long and something strange sounds from his throat. It's like a wounded animal dying in a trap and he tells himself to stop it, to not do this. Not here.

The angel is taking steps forward, like he's not sure what pesky humans need, what they could want. Stupid little monkeys and their messy bodies, Uriel would say and Dean almost laughs at that bastard. Almost laughs because the angel is right. He isn't worth a penny, not even the skin on his body.

"Dean."

Cas is crouching low now by him, voice still commanding and Dean shakes his head.

"Don't," he says because he doesn't know how to ask. He has no one left really. Bobby knows he's weak, Sam does too which is why his baby brother is out fucking a demon right now. Probably drinking her blood and he can't breathe. Can't take enough air in to make his lungs work no matter how big the mouthful. Gulping eyes feeling wide and he knows how those fish caught on dry land feel. Know what it feels like when it's coming and you can't do a thing to stop it.

The angel's sitting by him, all stiff with his back against the car carefully not touching. Hands clasped in his lap looking at the sky, at all the stars spread out around them.

Dean's so damn grateful.

So they sit while he stitches himself up a little more, gets those few little shards of himself that are still clanking around in the hollow part that used to be him melded into something functional. Knows that he can make it through today as the sky begins to lighten, maybe even tomorrow as they sit watching dawn silently break around them.


End file.
